“Well,” pursued Jo, “why didn’t you tell her you loved her in the first place? Maybe it would have helped. It isn’t much of a compliment to a girl to hang around and not say anything.”
“Think, Jo. I supposed until Marta came, that Pen was your girl. I brought her up here to see if she could be reformed for you. I sent you away to Westcott’s until I could tell if she were worthy of you.”
“Say, Kurt, I am the simp. I never thought of that. She didn’t think you really cared. Leave it to me. I’ll tell her.”
“But where is she? Don’t let the boys know, but Betty leaked the fact that she was going to France. I can’t think she was in earnest.”
Jo whistled.
“I am beginning to get glimpses on a dark subject. I’ll bet that is where he is making for, too.”
“He? Who?” he asked quickly. “Hebler?”
“Hebler! She’d rather dodge him than you. No; I mean that aviator who landed over toward Westcott’s a little while ago. I heard one of those fliers had been in town giving an exhibition. He was down to earth just about long enough to pick some one up. That was what she meant in the note she left for me when she said she was going by the Excelsior route.”
“How would she know him, and how would she get word to him to come out here?”
“She told me she spent the day in town—let me see—day before yesterday, I think it was. Said she met a man there she used to know.”